


The words he never said

by hands0me_rhys



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Multi, Peter is like in his twenties, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, kill me with a rusty spoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hands0me_rhys/pseuds/hands0me_rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you need like.. to talk, or— something? You're a kid, Pete." He feels the sweat down his spine, and pulls the mask off his head as their legs dangle off the building.</p><p> "It's my fault."<br/>-<br/>The anniversary of Gwen Stacy's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unspoken thoughts that kill

He dreamt about her, on most nights. Peter dreamed about Harry, too— not the good kind where your heart skipped a beat and you were high on happiness come morning. His fingers tremble when he woke during those dreams, and he was always drenched in sweat.

The young man stared down at the city, accompanied by the soft stirring behind him, his shoulders slouched and a bottle of liquor between his gloved hands. Someone slapped a hand over his head, the brunette's mask halfway up his face to reveal his mouth and jawline. Peter grunted in unison to Wade's arrival. "Howdy, Spider-boy. What're you doing all alone on this big bad  _roof?"_  

And on most nights, like this, he was glad the older man was here. The mercenary wasn't near the company the spider should be keeping— but who was he to avoid fate again?— that he pushed himself in the wrong crowd, hurt people he didn't _mean_ to hurt _._  Harry and Gwen came to mind. His uncle followed suite.

"Getting shit faced." Peter responded, fingers tight on the bottle as Wade plopped beside him with a grimace. The younger man could smell the metallic tang of blood on him. Wade pushed at his arm, to reach for the bottle, and was met with little resistance from the hero. "One of  _those_ days, huh, baby?" The mercenary questioned, pulling his mask up to take a swig, revealing scarred skin that Peter made no haste to touch on other evenings, but this time, his arms wouldn't leave his lap.

Peter snickered, soft and bitter. Partly because no matter how hard Wade  _tried_ , he couldn't get drunk. And Pete, he was on the verge of throwing up the past six days in one sitting. "That's an understatement." The younger licked his lips, and Wade hummed questionably as he hands the bottle back to his fellow spandex enthusiast. 

"Do you need like.. to talk, or— something? You're a kid, Pete." He felt the sweat down his spine, and pulled the mask off his head as their legs dangle off the building. Wade thinks of the spider as a child, and Peter knew that, he  _knew._ He wondered how Vanessa was doing, how well off she was. Peter wouldn't mind seeing her again, because she was far too loving, far too sweet and strong, and  _everything_ to Wade. Maybe even to Peter, if he was being honest.

"Can I just drink instead?" The brunette asked, his fingers worrying on the latex of his mask. He returned to being a vigilante in the sky, a protecter among the people. Harry still resided somewhere, somewhere Peter couldn't find him. And he knows, that the boy had been  _sick_ and if Peter had noticed, if he had helped his best friend sooner, he could have prevented everything.

Peter Parker was useless; Spiderman was a monster.

"Baby boy, talk to me." The mercenary brushed fingers over his neck, and it's firm but gentle, shaking him out of a trance within it. Peter breathed in, the smell of blood, of a tangy alcohol, of Wade's warm hand on his nape. 

"It's my fault. It's  _always_ me, Wade." The words are a grind of his inner self hatred, of the resentment towards himself, of what he'd done to his partners, what he'd done to the city. He felt his eyes leak, and Wade pulled him into his side, stroking back brown curls with a soft sigh. He knows what it is. He knows, he  _does—_

"Come stay with 'Ness and I, huh, baby? Let us take care of you."

His arm wrapped itself around the older's abdomen, and he sniffled, a nod signaling the merc to press a masked kiss on his forehead.


	2. Dreams are like fleeting kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets better.

The way there, it's a blur. He doesn't remember a thing, only swinging off a building and wondering how much it would take for his body hit the gravel. If it just ended, and Harry would be happy. He didn't want Gwyn dead— he  _didn't._ He wanted Peter gone. Gwyn had just wanted it to be over, for them to stop this and have things go back to normal— 

Peter hadn't meant for it to go so far. To see her lifeless body, dangling off a web feet beneath him. He hadn't meant for it to happen. He hadn't meant to let anyone die; To let her father go, or her.

_You did this._

He loved Harry, he loved Gwyn. Peter would have given up everything to bring them back into his life, but right now, right here, he felt like he could love again. 

Like Wade and Vanessa could be a bigger part of his life. Like they could  _fix_ him, even if he was already tearing at the seams.

It's a blur.

The apartment is small, cramped, just like his. Vanessa's hair curled down her back, her face a pristine of sharp features and dark-brown eyes. Peter is standing there, clad in his suit, mask crumpled in his fist, and Wade pushed softly at his shoulder, as if to keep him from the dwellings of his mind. It's early in the morning, he can tell just by the dawn peeking through the curtains.

Vanessa, her gaze endearingly sweet, and the surprise easily hidden in her smile. She hadn't expected to see him. Neither had Peter, to be honest. He was sure he'd rather wallow away from prying eyes, but he's supposed to be  _healing,_ like most people say. Healing hurts. It takes, and it takes, and it takes— but he's learning.

There aren't any words needed, and he doesn't need to stand there long for her to get up from her place on the couch, sitting down a mug, and moving to wrap arms around his shoulders.

This was the second time that he's burdened them with this. It hurts, knowing what they know, but they don't blame him. They don't see him as a murderer. People did bad things, especially the ones who had  _good_ intentions. They tell Peter that he didn't do anything wrong, but it's a lie. They tell him he's good and good and _good_ , when he's curled up in their bed and their hands are brushing against his skin. They tell him these things, and for a moment Peter believes it, but it's gone when he falls asleep and Harry's there. Gwyn is, too, her disgust so clear. 

Gwyn is good. She is the very definition of it. Peter is nothing of the like. He's caused so much death, just by being alive. He took on a persona, a  _hero_ to rewrite the wrongs he'd done. For his uncle. And in that moment, he'd done far more damage than—

"Baby, go back to sleep." Vanessa whispered in his ear, his eyes open and staring heavily at the ceiling. Her hand lay tentative over his bare chest, and Wade pressed his mouth against Peter's jaw. Wade reached up, and Vanessa laced their fingers together over Peter's chest. He wondered faintly, if this was what he could have— if he could forgive himself and that this was enough. But he couldn't push himself into their lives, he couldn't— _couldn't_ risk losing them.

They're both fast asleep when he climbs out the window with a heavy heart.

 

 


End file.
